


the body aches when you tell it to quit

by thisishardcore



Category: Columbine - Fandom, Historical Criminals RPF, True Crime - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rape Fantasy, very brief tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:15:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisishardcore/pseuds/thisishardcore
Summary: All talk, he says, no action. They flirt, and smile, maybe even give their number to him, but they don't put out, no matter how nice he is. They probably smell bullshit, Dylan cracks, can see right through him. Eric flicks one of his pens at him.
Relationships: Eric Harris/Dylan Klebold
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	the body aches when you tell it to quit

**Author's Note:**

> another one too long to be considered a drabble, whoops :)
> 
> title is from this is heaven & i'd die for it, by american pleasure club

Dylan has never been too freaked out by the things Eric's into. He's far from being someone who can judge him, having his own _interests_ (his own fantasies of bondage and torture, sure), but it's Eric who first brings up the idea of _forcing_ them. And he brings it up so casually, asking if Dylan's ever thought about it before. Dylan, no reason to lie, shakes his head, crosses his legs at the ankle, spread out on the couch while Eric's doing his homework on the floor. It's mostly out of nowhere. Dylan certainly hasn't been talking about anything of the sort, his mind currently stuck on the image of the moment the bombs went off, the fires that would start, the bodies that would be left behind. It seems hardly connected. 

He asks Dylan if he'd ever actually have the guts to do something like that. Eric thinks he does. If he gets in the right mood, it feels like he can do anything, set fire to the world and everyone in it with the right look. Dylan understands perfectly. It's like a storm in his chest, and every now and again it gets big enough to swallow him whole. But he doesn't think he can actually do something like that. Not to some random girl anyway. 

Eric says he trying so hard to get laid, but no girls follow through. All talk, he says, no action. They flirt, and smile, maybe even give their number to him, but they don't put out, no matter how nice he is. They probably smell bullshit, Dylan cracks, can see right through him. Eric flicks one of his pens at him. 

That's not it, Eric says, his voice clear but defensive. Dylan thinks about all the times Eric's said blatantly violent things as jokes around other people, how many times he's talked about violent movies and songs with a glimmer in his eye and a smile on his face. How many times he's likened himself to violent heroes. Yeah, they probably smell bullshit. 

Dylan breathes in, crosses his arms. He could probably do it if Eric held them down or something. Eric turns his head so fast, Dylan's worried he might snap his own neck. He asks Dylan to repeat himself. He does. The smile on his face is victorious, arrogant, entirely his own. Yeah, he says, he'd hold 'em down. Only if he got to use them after Dylan's finished. 

And that should probably weird Dylan out. Too close to them fucking each other. It doesn't-- He's half-hard, chest tight, heart picking up. Eric goes on to describe what exactly he'd d, how he'd position them, how he'd keep them from screaming. Says he'd make them like it or he'd knock them out. Dylan does not imagine himself as the one doing it (hardly could even when he was talking about it), but rather finds himself thinking about how it'd feel to be the victim, Eric on top of him. Which _should freak him out_. God, it really doesn't. His eyes are closed and Eric is all he's thinking about. 

Eric says something about shoving his cock somewhere, voice low and rough, and Dylan has to close his eyes as tight as fucking possible, bite his damn lip just to keep himself from making a sound. Thank god Eric isn't looking at him anymore.

Dylan can hear the sound of Eric flicking his pen, spinning it fast around his fingers. Dylan's chest might just burst open on the spot. They're both quiet for a long moment, swirling in their own fantasies. And Dylan should be so scared, or disgusted, or whatever, but he's thinking about being the girl in Eric's fantasies, and he doesn't mind. 

Eric inhales, sharp and sudden, his voice the quietest thing when he next speaks. 

"I..." He seems to reconsider what he's planning on saying. "Do you ever--" shakes his head, "Gotta promise you won't say shit."

Dylan runs his tongue over his bottom lips, collecting himself. He promises. 

Eric's tone is confessional. "You ever think of-- Like. Guys?"

Dylan, for a small second, thinks Eric can read his mind. He's looking back at him, fidgeting with his pen. Dylan swallows. Then nods. He has. He is currently. Which he doesn't say, but hopes is clear enough.

Eric exhales, turns back to look at his own hands. It stops the conversation cold, but it does nothing to dampen the heaviness in Dylan's chest, between his legs. Neither of them says another word, but Dylan seriously considers running off to the bathroom and dealing with himself. But then Eric is getting up, standing by the sofa, awkward and shifting his weight from side to side. There's no storm brewing in this boy. There is no violence. All the things he hides behind, all the fantasies, slip away. 

Dylan takes his wrist and pulls him down-- It startles both of them. Their mouths meet fast enough for it to not matter. Shock and awe pulled far away.

Dylan feels something wrap around his ribcage, break all his bones, rip through all his blood vessels. God, he really is kissing his best friend. It's not perfect, the angle is awkward, and Eric is stock-still besides his mouth, but it's something that threatens to tear him apart from the inside out. 

He's known Eric so long, knows the way his lips curl thin into a smile, the way his eyes go wide when he's yelling, the ways his fingers fidget with everything they can reach. He's memorized the circles he spins his foot in during class. He has the way he taps his fingers along to songs carved into the ceiling of his skull. But he knows nothing of this. 

Eric melts eventually, fumbles against Dylan, hands splayed against his chest, and he must not know the way he's touching Dylan-- If he was thinking at all, he wouldn't be doing any of this. But Dylan wasn't complaining. 

Eric's tongue pushes past his lips, and it's a little gross, but Dylan's heard all of Eric's grossest thoughts. It's fitting. His heart thrums erratic in his chest but settles into a hard beat as Eric clings to his shirt. And then his mouth is on Dylan's neck-- And maybe, Dylan thinks, maybe they'll never see heaven, but this is close enough. This is perfectly enough. 

Eric loses steam pretty fast. Settles for flexing his hand, barely a twitch, about a dozen times in a row, and whispering against Dylan's collarbone, eyes closed. There's no storm brewing in this boy. He's quiet, fragile, hollow-bones and thin skin. 

Dylan wraps an arm around him, hand on the back of his head. He stares at the ceiling for the rest of the night. 


End file.
